Quartet 3
by Phineas Redux
Summary: Four complete short tales dealing with all those humorous things that tend to crop up in warrior women's schedules and spoil their day!


—OOO—

Four complete short tales dealing with all those humorous things that tend to crop up in warrior-women's schedules and spoil their day!

**Disclaimer—**MCA/Universal/RenPics own all copyrights to everything related to 'Xena: Warrior Princess' and I have no rights to them.

—OOO—

**Story 1**

—Xena wants to write her own memoirs. Gabrielle appoints herself as editor, to the Princess's annoyance. There is a little chronology issue with this story's contents; but I couldn't resolve it without losing the overall humour of the piece. You can also have fun identifying the episodes the ladies discuss!

'**Recollections of a Butt-Kicking Warrior'**

**A conversation, in Dramatic form**

"_You_ want to write your own memoirs, Xena!" Gabrielle was frankly dismissive. "Ha. So, that'd be Caesar's '_Gallic Wars_', only under another name."

"Hey! I got way better tales than he ever had." Xena growled at the golden-haired girl standing beside the table. "What did _he_ do? Eh?"

"He conquered Gaul. And Britannia—sort of."

"Huh. Kid's stuff!" The Warrior Princess had greater visions in mind. "How about that time I rampaged over the Steppes with Borias and my army."

"Too nasty."

"Or when I went to Chin and fought Ming Tien?"

"Can't write that." Gabrielle was adamant; putting her booted foot down with a thud that shook the table, and spilt Xena's bottle of ink.

"Shark Island?"

"Too brutal." Gabrielle remained obdurate. "Think of the delicate readers in Pouthena."

"Where's that?"

"A little village—middle of nowhere." Gabrielle waved a hand in the air, somewhat dismissively. "The Pouthenians are very sensitive, y'know."

"How about that time we were caught in the forest by those cannibals." Xena perked up at the remembrance. "Now that was a real shi—"

"Don't even think of writing about that, lady." Gabrielle interrupted hastily, shuddering in disgust. "Mud! Ugh!"

"OK," Xena's brow furrowed in thought. "There was the time I was knocking seven bells out of everyone; then I was dead for a short time and you protected my body till you brought me back; then I went on knocking seven bells out of everyone for what they'd put you through?"

"Er," Gabrielle rubbed her chin; trying to remember the exact details of whatever adventure that had been. "Which one was that, again?"

"I know." Xena laughed at the memory. "Remember when we met Princess Leah and Meg. And had all that mix-up about who was who? Gods, that was fun."

"You can't publish that. Too—common." Gabrielle sniffed in refined disgust.

"There's that time we met Antony in Egypt and tried to stop his plans?" Xena brightened as she thought about this. "And we, er, —then Brutus butted in—"

"Too sexy." Gabrielle was having none of it. "Really, Xena! How could you have thought he—"

"Remember when Joxer found that parchment Aphrodite had put a spell on, and suddenly there were three of you dancing around." Xena laughed outright. "That's what even _I_ call too much of a good—"

"Do you want to live to see this work sell, lover?" Gabrielle growled quietly, like a cat which had been provided with the wrong kind of fish for its lunch.

"Gabrielle! Gimme some leeway here." Xena raised her arms in supplication. "I'm trying to write my autobiography. I need inspiration. Hey, I know. What about that time I was blind for a while—and you were kidnapped and Vidalus tried to make you into a lady? That'd work."

"You mean the time I was dragged off by that idiot Palaemon and given to those morons who wanted to wed me to a corpse; then fry me to a frazzled crisp along with him?" Gabrielle was not pleased, and started poking Xena's shoulder with a determined finger to emphasise her points. "Married to a King who was already dead! Haggled into being a Lady. Dragged from pillar to post while you bounced around trying to find me. No way! Nix with the barbeque memories, lady."

"Gods, Gabrielle. You can be so picky, sometimes." Xena gave in with ill-grace. "So what does that leave? Got it. I could edit together all those times I was crucified! That'd make for drama."

"Great Aphrodite's Big Toe!" Gabrielle was appalled. "That is so sick, Xena. Listen carefully, do you understand what the word **NO** means?"

"I'm running out of possibilities, here." Xena groaned with despair. "What've you got to offer, then?"

"Ever thought about writing a cook-book, instead?" The bard offered her best shot. "Like—who was it?—Archestratus's '_100 Yummy Vegetarian Dishes_'."

"Darling, why don't you go and tour the town-market." Xena's patience finally gave up the good fight. "I hear they sell some really great nutbread there."

"Oh—Ha-ha-ha!" Gabrielle tossed her hair in scorn "You know it'll never sell. People want delicate romance and pastoral serenity in their fiction nowadays. So, how's your pastoral serenity, Xena?"

"All the better for watching you trying to teach a rock to recite Homer."

"That'll be the day." Gabrielle's curled lip tried to reach the proportions of a derisive sneer, but failed miserably around the gentle smirk mark. "You did say it was your memoirs you're defacing that parchment with, right? As if anyone'd want to read _'My Life and Times, by Xena, Warrior Princess'_. Ha! Some hope. Where's the audience?"

"Have some sympathy, Gabrielle." Xena tried her patented sad expression, but with no result. The young bard could be hard, too.

"I remember when you entered that beauty contest in Amphipolis." Gabrielle laughed impolitely. "You never stood a chance! Whatever made you think you could win a beauty contest? Go on, write about that. The readers'd laugh at that."

A strange noise filled the small room, echoing off the panelling: Xena grinding her teeth. But Gabrielle was unrepentant.

"You could write about when you were in Callisto's body, and she was in your body down in Tartarus; and you and I fought those other ten warlords. Remember? Gods, that was strange; working alonside the big C like she was you! Well, of course, she was you! I mean you were she-her! Anyway, Sisyphus was trying to stay outta Tartarus, and had this convoluted plan to send ten others there instead of him." Gabrielle nodded at the memory. "Yeah! You did kinda quite a good job, considering I couldn't bear to look at you for most of the time!"

"Thanks a million, Light of my Life. But it's supposed to be _my_ memoirs so we'll leave _her_ outta it, thanks all the same; even in out-of-body mode." Xena sniffed disdainfully. "The less of _her_ in my '_Memoirs_' the better! Weren't ya warming to me by the end, though?"

"Nah!"

"Oh!" Xena turned in her chair with a raised brow and mutely considered the young blonde woman by her side.

"What, Xena?"

"It's just us writer's need quiet and repose." The Warrior Princess grinned broadly and raised her eyebrows questioningly again, before indicating the door with a casual, but pointed, gesture. "So, if ya don't mind?"

"Well, if that's all you think of my kindly-meant assistance." Gabrielle was unconcerned, fiddling idly with a quill pen on the table till Xena snatched it from her. "Hey. I know! I know! Talking about your beauty. Remember when we both had that nasty skin disease—only you had it worse? And you had to spread that paste of —"

"I do not wish to recall that particular episode, if you don't mind." Xena snapped back viciously. "If that's the best you can come up with—?"

"Hoity-toity!" Gabrielle sniggered. "We can't _all_ be beautiful and successful every day—unless, of course, you're a green-eyed golden-haired Bard, with numerous published scrolls to her credit."

The boot that flew through the air missed the ducking Bard by a fraction; skimming over her head as the warrior-in-training dived through the door, keeping low. She, at least, had learnt something from Xena!

"Only trying to help." Her disembodied voice echoed from the corridor outside.

"And don't come back till you have something constructive to say! Silly girl." Xena grunted in disgust and leant over the ink-stained parchment again, chewing her quill feather. "Damn, authorship is such hard work. How'd they all do it?"

—OOO—

"Write her memoirs. Silly rabbit. Huh! What memoirs. Beat this guy up. Beat that guy up. Beat Callisto up. Beat another guy up." Gabrielle snorted in derision as she descended the stairs and went out into the sunshine. "Get in amongst some-one else's love-life, and make a complete dog's ear of it; until I arrive to sort things out. Then she beats Callisto up again. That ain't memoirs; that's just bein' pushy. I could do that. I could! Of course maybe all she needs, come to think of it, is a really good editor? Me!"

As she reached the street-corner opening onto the town square a myriad of colourful tents, already set-up for the market day, came into view.

"Hmm! Nutbread, eh."

**The End**

Note— Pouthena. Greek for Nowhere.

—OOO—

**Story 2.**

—This is not an entire adventure; nor is it the start of an adventure: but it is, perhaps, one aspect of an adventure!

'**Street Talk'**

The table had been exposed to sunlight for many years. There were several cracks in the frame and boards that made up its surface. The colour of the wood; originally a deep orange-brown, had long faded to a brownish gray. It was also slightly uneven. Metal plates or flagons of wine, placed on the table by servants, rocked on their bases as if seeking solid ground. Xena felt sure the left offside leg was shorter than its neighbours and was the cause of a slight tremor whenever either she or Gabrielle moved in their chairs, or raised their tankards from the wooden surface.

Another hazard was the presence of a multitude of winged insects; especially wasps. The food ordered by the other guests, who sat at the many tables ranged along the front of the Inn, attracted these in droves. The Inn-keeper had also hung up a row of pots with flowering plants under the slightly over-hanging edge of the first floor. These, along with the fruity smell of splashed ale, and wine; allied with the delicious aroma of cooking from the Inn's interior, had long since brought a mass of flies and assorted insects to reconnoitre the front of the Inn, and get in customers hair.

Neither Xena nor Gabrielle were much put out by the majority of these insects. Certainly not by the wasps, which they had long recognised as merely enquiring interested parties who, on being allowed a modicum of time to quietly examine any particular part of a person they chose, would then fly off satisfied. This quiet approach, they found, saved a great deal in energy and lost patience; as well as avoiding the wasp becoming excited by someone's constant waving and slapping, thereby forcing it into war-mode!

"What'd she say?" Gabrielle tried not to lean over in the direction of the young woman sitting at a table a few yards away, on the far side of the Inn door.

"Couldn't make out. Too much noise." Xena sat beside Gabrielle, with her back to the woman they were trying to overhear. "All these people comin' and goin'. And this clatter all round. Gods, this town is noisy!"

The Inn sat on a busy avenue of the rural town. Not the main street, but still a busy thoroughfare. It was about thirty feet wide and lined by solid granite buildings, the majority of which were three stories high, disappearing into the distance on either hand. This gave the street the qualities of a canyon, with sound reverberating along its length.

Traffic was made up of a variety of farmer's carts and wagons, with the occasional private coach for good measure. The majority of the vehicles were pulled by a couple of oxen; with the private one's being horse-drawn. They all clattered over the wide heavy flagstones which paved the street with a dull constant roar, a little like a high waterfall. For travellers newly arrived from the countryside it made talking difficult; and listening to someone else's conversation almost impossible.

"Maybe we should wait till she goes back inside?" Gabrielle picked gloomily at her plate of cabbage and beans. "This eavesdropping lark is harder than you'd think."

"Nah, she'll meet her contact in the open." Xena spoke with the assured tone of experience, as she glanced quickly over her shoulder at her prey. "We're too far away to overhear what she says, though. We gotta get closer, even if only for a few moments. There's a servant standing beside her, now. Probably just taking her lunch order."

A few days ago while travelling through Boeotia Xena and Gabrielle had discussed with Protarchus, the Senator of the city of Livadeia, what he was intending to do about a local warlord who was amassing a small army in the neighbourhood. To this end he had persuaded Xena to follow a young woman suspected of being a courier for the outlaw. When the woman set out on a journey South with only a couple of pack-mules Xena and Gabrielle had followed; keeping their quarry in sight at all times. Now three days later, arrived in the small rural town of Kiriomenos, they were engaged in trying to discover exactly what the suspect meant to impart to whoever she met in the town.

"Look!" Xena sat up straight and glanced quickly over her left shoulder. "See this fair-haired woman coming down the street headed her way. This could be it."

"So what're ya goin' to do?" Gabrielle raised her hand to shade her pale eyes in the bright sunlight, looking at the dark warrior woman. "Come on! It'll have to be quick, or we'll miss her."

"OK, OK, I gotta plan." Xena found herself having to think fast, and went with the first thing that entered her head. "I'll give it a moment, before strolling by on her left; then you get up quietly an' walk past on her right. That way we can put together what we hear later, in our room."

"That's your idea of a plan?"

"You got anything better?"

"No." Gabrielle sniffed haughtily. "But I can't think of anything worse."

"Come on! Gimme' a break, here."

"Oh, alright. But it'll never work."

Trying to act as unostentatiously as possible; which was far more difficult than she imagined, Xena waited till the visitor had engaged the woman at the table and the Inn servant in conversation before standing and casually walking past them. She tried to get as close as possible, moving as slowly as she could without raising suspicion; then entered the Inn's large dining-room where she was instantly surrounded by crowds of customers going about the serious business of their afternoon meal. Pushing gently, but firmly, through these she walked across to the wide staircase and made her way to the large room, overlooking the street, where she and Gabrielle were staying. Here she sat on the bed, awaiting the arrival of Gabrielle. This was not long in coming as she quickly heard swift light footsteps hurrying along the corridor, before the door was unceremoniously flung wide, and the clearly excited Amazon dashed into the room.

"So. What'd ya hear, Xena?"

"Oh, well. Not much, really." Xena tried to calm the eager warrior. "Come an' sit here beside me. She said— _'—don't like the stew. How about the house salad? You got any sweet wine; not the syrupy Dacian, but the Ithacan? 3 drachma's and two obols! That's robbery. I'll give you 2 and a half drachma's for the lot!' _—then I was past and couldn't hang about. What'd _you_ hear her say, Gabrielle?"

"She was talking to that blonde bim—young lady." Gabrielle snorted in disgust. Apparently she wasn't exactly satisfied with the outcome of Xena's plan. "Someone got in my way just as I was passing her. A merchant going to the Inn for his lunch. Gods! Merchanting must be hot work—he thrust me outta his way and surged through that door, heading for the dining-room, like a man finding a spring in the desert!"

"What'd she _say_, Gabrielle!"

"Oh, right! Well, when I'd untangled myself from a chair I heard her say— _'— take the right-hand road till you reach the Temple of Isis. Then you bear left and go down the hill till you reach the big building with a red door. That's the Public Library. They have lots'a cooking scrolls. I'm sure you'll find some great recipes for your banquet there!"_ —and then the blonde bimb—lady said thanks and walked off." Gabrielle shrugged her shoulders unhappily and patted her short skirt with a disgusted air. "By that time I was past the table and had to go into the Inn. So, there we are."

"Yeah, there we are."

"Exactly!" Gabrielle gave a quick nod, though she looked far from convinced.

There was a short pregnant pause, filled with silence. Then Gabrielle rose to her feet, shook her head reproachfully, and walked over to stand disconsolately at the wide street-window.

Xena glanced hurriedly at the ceiling, raising her hands in the air, then hurried after her companion.

"Come on, Gabrielle, it wasn't that bad a plan."

"Yes, it was. How could it have been worse? Tell me."

"Well we, er, learned something—" Xena stopped, lost for anything concrete to say.

"The only thing we learned, warrior-woman," The Amazon's tone was cutting; not to say sarcastic. "was that we've been following the wrong woman for the last four days. Not the right woman, Xena; the wrong one!"

Xena recognised the early stages of discontent brewing in her heartmate, but swept back into the fight face-on, as was her custom.

"I don't see a problem." The tall warrior put an encouraging arm over the shoulder of the short figure by her side. "We can still identify the real woman back in Livadeia. We'll just return, and pick up the trail again. No big deal."

"Oh, you think not?" Gabrielle had been leaning on the sill of the open window gazing morosely over a small window-box, filled with flowers, into the busy street below. She turned back to Xena with a frown. "I'm glad you think we—_Aargh! Aww!_ A wasp bit me on the—on the—arm! Gods-damn-it! Damn this Inn. I'm gonna get that wasp! I'll trail it to its house and jump up an' down on it till it thinks the Summer Solstice Festival is happening on its head! _Aow! _Gods, where is Hades when ya really need him? I'll pulverise the little—[_insert epithet of choice here_]. I'll—"

"Gabrielle," Xena grabbed the arm of the prancing wounded warrior. "is it that wasp lying squashed on the floor, under your boot?"

"Oh, Tartarus! Is it dead?"

"Couldn't be deader. Well done."

"Gods! That's it, I'm outta here." Gabrielle grabbed her hair and shook her head for a moment. "See you in Chalcis."

"Gabrielle, Chalcis is fifty parasangs away!"

"Easy stroll." Gabrielle's words tumbled forth like a waterfall. "I'm in good shape, y'know; I can do it in three days; nothing to keep us here now; she was the wrong woman; you made a mistake; God, you were a fool to think it was her! See you in Chalcis."

"No it ain't." Xena replied with equal energy. "Yeah, you are; Yes, you can; yeah there is; I know, I know; _I_ made a mistake?; no I'm not; no ya won't, cause I ain't going, so there!"

"Oh, really?" Gabrielle stopped dragging a saddlebag from the corner of the room and paused to look at the tall woman who towered over her as she crouched by the bed. "What? Ya got a better plan? For all the Gods' sake please don't tell me. —Oh, alright, tell me."

"Our only plan is—we gotta go back to Livadeia and try again." Xena tried to affect an injured tone as they stood in the sunlight by the window. "I mean, think of Senator Protarchus. And all those loyal citizens waiting to put the boot into that damned warlord."

"Yes, yes, I suppose you're right. But I ain't happy." Gabrielle was rubbing her—arm—in a distracted manner as she frowned in thought. "Don't worry about the warlord, by the way, Xena. When we get back to Livadeia I'll take care of that [_insert epithet of choice here_] by myself, no trouble. I didn't come all the way here; through fog, rain, and leech-filled bogs, to be attacked by a marauding wasp-mugger just so a warlord can carry on luxuriating in—in—luxury, in his harem. When I've finished with the [_insert epithet of choice here: Gods, Gabrielle's in a bad mood today!_] he won't be doin' anything in his harem for a goodish while—Ha!"

"OK-OK, let's get packed then I'll pay our bill." Xena mentally wiped her forehead; after all, things could have been so much worse. "I think I left my money pouch back in Livadeia; can I borrow 8 drachmas, Gabrielle?"

There was a lengthy, silent pause. A pause that seemed suddenly, to Xena, almost like Time itself stopping in its tracks. And the atmosphere all round the tall dark warrior seemed to turn icy and cold. Gabrielle was staring at her with green sparks flickering in her eyes, and tight lips. Lips which finally opened.

"What? What? _What_?" Gabrielle was clearly intent on putting her question clearly. "You ain't got no money? No _money_? _No_ money?"

"Er, yes. That is—no." Xena began to stutter, realising a critical climax had been reached in the whole sorry affair. "I mean—I got lot'sa money—but just not here. In Liv—"

"Oh!" Gabrielle nodded and grinned. At least she bared her teeth. "Well it so happens, lover of my life—but not for much longer— that I left my money pouch in Livadeia, too! So what does that mean? What does that mean, warrior-woman?"

"Er, er—!"

"It means that _I_ ain't going to be the one who washes dishes in the kitchen for the rest of the day, that's what it means." Gabrielle stepped forward and grabbed the edge of Xena's leather top in a firm grip. "Oh no! A certain dark dangerous warrior'll be doing that. I'll be up here laying on the bed, eating purple grapes and drinking white wine to the sound of silver flutes. I'm sure there are plenty of local flautists who'd jump at the work for a few obols. What? You got somethin' to say?"

"Er no, Gabrielle." Xena knew when she was beat.

"Now would be a good time to find the Innkeeper and spoil his day." Gabrielle stepped back with arms firmly folded over her green top; her muscles glistening smoothly in the sunlight. "Out the door-downstairs-second on the right."

"Where—"

"The kitchen, darling." Gabrielle snorted with amusement. "And don't come back with kitchen-maid's hands. I'd loathe rough skin pawing me all night in bed."

"Oh, you mean—"

"Go, while I still feel compassionate." Gabrielle turned back to her packing, but glanced quickly over her shoulder as Xena reached the door. "I suppose he'll take an I.O.U when you tell him Senator Protarchus is our employer. Hurry back, you know how I hate taking an afternoon siesta by myself."

Xena ran down the stairs, knocking a few unwary guests aside as she went; after all, there are motives for doing things, and then there are _really good motives_ for doing things!

**The End**

—OOO—

**Story 3.**

—Our brave duo have to cross a border control-point between two Prefectures of Kaga Province in Japa, undetected. The only problem is that it has a famous history, and is presently overseen by perhaps the most suspicious officer in the Japa Army.

'**Passing the Ataka Barrier'**

"So, that's the famous Ataka Barrier, eh." Xena snorted in contempt. "Looks just like any other run-down border crossing to me."

"Come on, Xena." Gabrielle, on the other hand, was nervous. "This is _the_ Ataka Barrier. You know how strict they are here about letting riff-raff, or anybody else, through."

"We ain't riff-raff." Xena grunted in disgust. "If they try anything, I'll knock their heads together so hard they'll see stars for a year!"

"Oh, yeah. Great." Gabrielle snorted disdainfully at this suggestion. "That way there'll be no chance they guess who we are. Brilliant!"

Xena and Gabrielle had been entrusted with an important message for the Daimyo of the Kanazawa Prefecture; but it was well known that this crossing-post was controlled by a Commander as sharp and cunning as a weasel in stopping undesirables from slipping past him.

The other problem was that; though it had been kept hushed up as much as possible, the news of the women warriors' task had leaked out and was public knowledge. Making, of course, their work much more difficult. It was not going to be easy; and some kind of disguise was, obviously, vital in the circumstances.

To this end Gabrielle had spent a sleepless night and come up, in the morning, with a solution that very nearly sent Xena's hair white. To wit—Gabrielle would pose as a Lady of Quality, while Xena was dressed somewhat less flamboyantly as her servant. A plan so banal that when Xena had made a cutting remark about the supposed quality of the mythical lady in question Gabrielle had kicked her ankle: the tall warrior still having the bruise to show for it.

So here they were attired in a variety of curious garments and riding in order of precedence a large white horse, followed by a scruffy pony of indeterminate age and a stubborn crotchety pack-mule.

Now, as they rested their mounts on the trail going up the small hill with its view out over the Sea of Japa, the border post itself stood revealed as a low building surrounded by a grove of pine trees. There was surprisingly little in the way of fencing or walls stopping the traveller from by-passing the checkpoint; but the reason for this came into view as the women rode closer. There were several wooden huts in a group off to the right where scores of horses were tied up, and busy around a parade-ground were a couple of hundred Japa soldiers. If this place was nothing else at least it was a military post.

"Remember Xena, you're a lowly servant, an' I'm your mistress." Gabrielle turned in her saddle to aim a sharp look at the woman beside her. "No gettin' above yourself. Just take your directions from me, OK?"

"Yeah, yeah." The warrior grumbled through set teeth. "Do what the lady says. Yes, ma'am; no ma'am; do _what_, ma'am?; does ma'am require her grapes peeled as usual? Does ma'am want her toes massaged with unicorn's milk tonight? What—"

"Can it, servant. Here comes the guard!"

—OOO—

In a large room in one of the low single-story buildings they were greeted by an officer in civilian dress, wearing wide trousers and a loose-sleeved wrap of bright red and white design. He was about thirty years of age.

"What may I do for you? I am Ichimuro Kojiro; Commander of this insignificant post." He rose from behind his desk and gave them a bow that was, to Gabrielle's mind, tinged with irony. "I find myself quite overwhelmed with honour that such charming ladies should deign to visit my humble abode."

"Lady. One. Singular. Only me!" Gabrielle decided to get off on the right foot. "I am the Lady—er, Aphrodite; a Roman citizen and aristocrat! This here's my lowly servant. She ain't much in the brains department, but she sure can keep a house tidy."

Xena restrained with difficulty the impulse to kick her blonde companion where it would do most good; instead shuffling with annoyance as she stood slightly behind her better half, staring rigidly at the floor. Gabrielle, on the other hand, sailed ahead like a ship in a following breeze.

"I wish for some refreshments. It has been a dry journey over the mountains, and Komatsu city is still some way off." Gabrielle looked around the wide room disdainfully. "Have you tea?"

"Tea, by all means. Or would you not prefer some cool Greek wine?" An enemy had once said of Ichimuro that, faced with his own mother telling him the time of day, he would refrain from believing her words till given a stamped scroll from the Emperor himself verifying her statement!

"What a curious suggestion." Gabrielle countered cunning with braggadocio. "Greek wine is beneath a Roman of my social standing. Good Japa tea will do for me."

"I find myself overcome with remorse." Ichimuro bowed with a smile. "I seem, quite inadvertently, to have mistaken you for the renegade warriors Xena and Gabrielle. A tall dark-haired woman of vicious demeanour, accompanied by a red-blonde little vixen! I quote the general wanted notices which have been sent to all posts, you understand."

For a moment Xena thought there might be bloodshed right then and there; she herself would never have dreamed of risking life and limb by describing her help-meet in such terms. In fact she saw Gabrielle's frame quiver for an instant, like a ship buffeted by a squall, before standing firm again.

"I have heard of them, of course." Gabrielle's tone reflected no sign of emotional turmoil as she sneered with curled lip. "There may be a slight resemblance; but nothing of note. I do have beautiful golden locks; which the Goddess Aphrodite herself would, doubtless, envy. They come from my grandmother on my father's side of the family, you know. The, er, Aniketoi of Athens; a most respected family of the euporoi, the highest class. Drusilla here is merely a basic slave I picked up at an auction in Rome a couple of years ago. Not much to look at, I give you, though she can style one's hair perfectly; but her cooking's crap!"

"In that case I can only offer humble apologies for my regrettable ignorance." Ichimuro, for all his tone, did not seem much worried. In fact he returned to the attack unbowed. "So you will have with you—I heap derision and contempt on my wholly lamentable question—the duly signed and stamped pass giving free passage through the Province for all travellers of merit and High Class? Approved by all the unimportant, but purely necessary, officials and Departments?"

At this juncture; faced with the fact that they had no documents or passes of any description, Xena prepared to do what she did best. But just as she straightened and began to flex her muscles Gabrielle took a step forward and launched an attack of her own.

"Would that be this? I got it three months ago at the '_Office for Insignificant but None-the-Less Important travelling Documents, and Dog Licences; all enquiries for Temporary Noodle-Retailing Warrants second door on the Left _', in Edo." Gabrielle opened the leather satchel hanging at her left hip on its long neck strap. She was used to carrying all sorts of useful items (or rubbish, as Xena was fond of saying) in this receptacle, and now produced a scroll which she unrolled. "_To all those whose occupation it is to inspect the documents of passing strangers. Let it be noted that hereby, and under the direct authorisation of the revered Emperor himself, this Office gives the undersigned personages full title and freedom to travel, voyage, trek, or journey wherever they desire through the confines of the understated Province [Kaga] as they wish for the term of six months, starting on this 5__th__ day of the month of Satsuki._"

As Xena could look over Gabrielle's shoulder, and therefore plainly see that the scroll was in fact one of the Bard's heavily scratched-out first drafts for a story, the warrior was struck dumb with amazement at Gabrielle's bravado, or bare-faced cheek. However, glancing at the Commander, Xena saw he was drinking in every word with an expression of mixed annoyance and regret. He also made no move to ask to see the document himself, apparently completely taken in by Gabrielle's audacious chutzpah. He folded like a fragile flower in a gale and sat down at his desk again.

"Your maid seems somewhat strong and—lithe, for a common servant!" He rallied bravely and returned to the assault, though with clearly diminished enthusiasm. Merely going through the motions, it seemed, with no fervent belief any longer in their criminal antecedents. "Surely she is more than a mere attendant; perhaps an ally with you, in improper and illegal activities against the Emperor's Peace and Well-being?"

"She can dance, if that's what you mean!" Gabrielle stood her ground impassively, not giving an inch; and clearly, to Xena's appalled ears, making it all up as she went along. "Here! Would you like to see her perform the famous Dance of the Four Veils? She takes them all off!"

"Seven veils, surely?"

"You know how everyone gets impatient halfway through." Gabrielle laughed, like a tinkling stream of diamonds falling onto a marble table—Xena felt like strangling her. "So I choreographed a quicker version. You'll enjoy it, I assure you. Everything off! Not a stitch remaining! She went down a treat at the last orgy I attended in Rome!"

Xena's cobalt blue's were aiming bolts of super-charged lightning at her supposed cohort-in-love's back, to no avail. If anyone was goin' to end up in their birthday suit here it wasn't goin' to be her; and she was just imagining several possible punishments, each more gratifying than the other, for her wayward companion when Ichimuro spoke up again.

"Your offer is most pleasant, and enchanting as the performance would without doubt be I must refrain from accepting." Ichimuro looked as if all he wanted was an empty room, so he could hold his head in his hands. "I find, however, that my time is wholly taken up with—with preparing to examine a group of goat-herders due through the post any moment now! With regrets I must make my excuses and bid you farewell."

He rose with some alacrity to show his visitors out. _Gabrielle did tend to have that effect on people_, Xena mused silently, as they both once more went out into the sunshine. Here, with an unenthusiastic wave of his hand, Ichimuro parted from his temporary guests with a polite word.

"Please have an agreeable time in Komatsu city; and may the snail soup be of the best vintage at your, unquestionably innumerable, banquets. Goodbye!"

—OOO—

"Dance of the Four Veils, Gabrielle?"

"I thought that was good!" The Bard was unrepentant, sniffing austerely as they rode away down the long road towards the distant city. "Anyway, you'd have brought it off, ok. You can dance great, y'know."

"Gabrielle, if I'd a danced, you'd a paid a high price!" Xena tried to imbue her tone with all the scandalized offence she felt. "Gettin' naked in a border-post in front of an ogglin' officer was not on the agenda the last time I consulted our plan!"

"Oh well, Xena," Gabrielle grinned impudently, clearly well aware of her misdeed. "just look on it as one of those lost chances one laments with regret as one recalls past memories in old age!"

"Gabrielle! You ain't goin' t'have an old age!" Xena had to shout; for the blonde was already cantering well ahead, kicking her heels into her mount with a merry laugh. "Gods! Just wait till I catch ya. You'll regret it! I'll give ya '_lamenting_' alright! Hey! Come back!"

**The End**

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**Story 4**

— Kai Lung meets Gabrielle; much to his discomfort. Ernest Bramah (1868-1942) wrote several books about his fictional character Kai Lung, a Chinese story-teller of comic tales. These were all written in a curiously stylised manner.

Kai Lung sits under a willow tree in a small village to tell a story to a mixed group of listeners. But he is interrupted by Gabrielle who criticises his methods, and tries to show him a better way to tell his tales.

—OOO—

**'Gabrielle meets Kai Lung'**

"—and so Lu Shan was propelled into the Upper Air without the preliminary prayers or proper number of incense sticks usual on such an occasion; making his appearance in those exalted regions a less than honoured event."

As the slightly shabby Chin story-teller finished his tale, smiled quietly, and ostentatiously held an empty wooden bowl towards his audience a young blonde woman spoke up from the third row of the sparse group of listeners.

"Not bad! Nice intonation, and good plot. But lacking in movement! You gotta make your characters inhabit the story properly, y'know."

"A well-spoken listener, who feels the need to comment on the faintest echoes of a story, is as a well-stocked trout stream in Autumn: a source of gratitude and sustenance to the impoverished and insignificant traveller." Kai Lung thus quietly allowed the lady's remark to glance harmlessly off his shoulders.

"What I mean is—you should make the listeners feel the characters are real!" Gabrielle, on the other hand, was intent on Literary Criticism: that is, with a big L. "Make 'em laugh; make 'em sing; make 'em cry! It's not a story; it's real life. D'you see?"

"A large and enthusiastic audience is as a great heap of taels to a poor man; evidence of the joy and pleasure his simple words give to his hearers." The experienced orator raised his head to have a closer look at the person who was focussed on trying his patience. "My wholly worthless bowl awaits its no doubt meagre, but nonetheless eagerly anticipated, cargo of excess cash donated by honourable listeners!"

"So I figure a little colour in the characters'll make all the difference, don't you?" Gabrielle carried on regardless, ignoring the gentle reminder from the still unpaid story-teller. "I mean, that man Lu Shan, he could'a been so much more alive if you'd shown him at home with his family—don't you think?"

"To give to a lowly potter the attention usually more appropriate to a Mandarin is perhaps to fail to recognise the innate qualities of the potter; as well as belittle the obviously high-flown virtues of the exalted Mandarin!" Kai Lung tried the old trick of answering the question, in the hope that the questioner would then go away. "Thank you, Wei San. A well-worn brass cash is at least better than no cash at all; but not much!"

The grey-bearded retailer of old candle-ends, thus addressed, raised his chin in the air and went off with as much honour as the situation merited. Gabrielle merely took advantage of the thinning crowd to slip closer to the front and sit opposite the slightly dusty raconteur.

"So I think the best way is to focus on your characters family." When enveloped by the golden ambience of literary theory Gabrielle could lose all grasp of reality, and now was one of those times. "Thrill your listeners with the crises of ordinary life. Let them see the difficulties of the woman toiling over the family sink. Let them feel the sadness of the character's poor lives. Make them weep in horror!"

"The private lives of the ordinary person, whether it be a poor student starving in a hovel as he awaits the outcome of already clearly-assigned examination results administered by the lowly, but still refined, Mandarins of the Green Umbrella pertaining to the clerks of the '_Foreign and Overseas Tax Office_'; or a resplendent Mandarin of the Crystal Button, enjoying his simple meal of hundred-year-old oxen steaks and sea-slug stew in his avowedly impoverished but luxuriantly appointed country villa, must remain outside the knowledge of the purely ordinary toilers of the paths of uncertainty and publicly-reviled, but still ruthlessly collected, taxes." By this time Kai Lung had awoken to the fact that he was in the presence of that most reviled of persons, the '_I know it all, and you're wrong_' school of listener. But as his preceding remark shows he was still capable of blinding a customer with multiple-claused expertise in his chosen form, or so he thought. "The Public like stories of handsome travellers, beautiful maidens rescued at the last minute from a fate of untold social disgrace; and of lowly ferocious brigands kidnapping persons of quality for later high rewards. A _dramatic_ story holds all ears!"

"Ah, but, all those exclamation and question marks!" Gabrielle was unfazed. Warming up now to the close-fought literary tussle, she launched happily on one of her pet themes. "I mean! What do people think when they're faced with drama of such energy and power that every sentence has to end in an exclamation mark to emphasise its degree of dramatic strength! Does it give a true measure of the character's actions? Does it paint a clear picture of the world in which the story-teller sets their tale! I think it actually over-excites the ordinary person's emotions; giving them climaxes and peaks of tension in every paragraph of your well-intentioned story, instead of only at the end; and so weakening their strength that they propose, on your next visit to their humble district, to give you a miss! Eh! Eh!"

Thus out-manoeuvred by the young blonde girl Kai Lung, for a moment, pondered on a classic proposal which he had devised many years ago, and interpolated into several of his stories to widespread acclaim. Namely, that "_It has been said there are few situations in life that cannot be honourably settled, and without loss of time, either by suicide, a bag of gold or by thrusting a despised antagonist over the edge of a precipice on a dark night._"*

However, looking at the young beautiful blonde girl with her flashing green eyes, it was obvious to the kind-hearted man that he would instead just have to suffer. But he tried one last defence.

"The golden hour in which an undeserving retailer of far-too-old stories can instil the spark of reverence and interest in the young breast comes an insufficient number of times to the wholly contemptible dealer in ragged tales and despised legends." He nodded in thanks as another native of the small town placed a small silver coin in the wooden bowl by his side. "Thank you, Mei Tan. A silver tael is like a cloud's shadow on a hot Summer day—a source of joy and comfort to the perspiring traveller! You were saying, madam? Your attention to my unassuming accomplishments is most gratifying. I find your remarks of great interest, and I have all the time in the world. No-one awaits me at the ancestral home of my fathers; nor do any sons anxiously expect the return of their father by their doorways; nor am I as yet blessed with the exalted honour of a wife."

There was a pause as Gabrielle sat by the man's side, looking into his face as if she could see his soul. Then she spoke.

"That may be, but I have 10 taels here; because I'd heard you were the best story-teller in the Province, and I came to see if it was true!" The young Amazon quietly placed the coins in the humble bowl, then stood and held her hand out to him. "You _are_ the best story-teller I've ever heard; and, believe me, I know what I'm talking about. Will you come with me to the Inn? I'd be honoured if you would give me your company for the evening. And I have a lady-friend who will be delighted to meet you, too. Please say yes!"

And so the two people; one young and valiant and proud and honourable, the other gentle and kind and a supreme exponent of the simple attainment by which he earned his bread and gave joy to those who needed joy most, walked side by side along the dusty street of the small village in the waning light of late evening. And in the hearts of both lay pleasure and thankfulness.

**The End**

—OOO—

Note. "_It has been said—precipice on a dark night _" This phrase is a direct quote from '_Kai Lung's Golden Hours_'. 1922. By Ernest Bramah.

Hope you enjoyed these stories. They are only meant to entertain, and have no deeper meaning or purpose :)

—OOO—


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